


It Goes Like This

by sporadic_obsession



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Businessman Miya Atsumu, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Office Worker Sakusa Kiyoomi, POV Sakusa Kiyoomi, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Relationship(s), Sakusa Kiyoomi/OC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporadic_obsession/pseuds/sporadic_obsession
Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a lonely man on a house upon a hill. Sakusa Kiyoomi made his choice to be alone but once a month—like a werewolf upon a full moon—he emerged from his self-imposed isolation to revel in everything the city had to offer.Miya Atsumu happened to talk to him on one of those days.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	It Goes Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! Here we go again.
> 
> Beware the tags and archive warnings for this - I would like to say there is a skippable part you could skim over if you’d like to avoid the non-consensual kissing going on, but although it is not explicit and I didn’t go too far with it, its influence in how the story moves forward is too deeply woven into it.
> 
> I’d like to thank the very lovely [Kiyomi](https://twitter.com/kiyomi_tried?s=21) for beta’ing this work for me; she’s the reason my comma usage is contained! It was a pleasure to work with her. ♥️ 
> 
> As always, you can find me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/sprdc_obssn) if you’d like to scream at me about this!

It goes like this:

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a self-proclaimed hermit. He lives in a small cottage up on a hill, far from the rest of civility, with a little garden in the back where he plants his own vegetables. He enjoys the peacefulness of the night sky shining brightly with stars as far as the eye can see, because the lamp posts are few and far between in his area. He appreciates the quietude of the early morning as the sun rises, because there’s no neighbours to greet him as he wakes. He loves to be alone, left to his own devices and to expand on his thoughts through the click of the keys on his old typewriter. Unfortunately for him, he has no choice but to partake in society’s many obligations.

A shame, really.

It hasn’t always been like this, for him. Back when he was younger, more innocent, he enjoyed the smell of the city air around him. He appreciated the bright neon lights of different shops he walked by. He loved getting to see people go about their lives; it was one of his hobbies, actually. He appreciated the low hum of Tokyo at night, and the flickers of light that filtered through the tiny window on the side of an airplane. Really, Kiyoomi loved to experience everything, to overwhelm himself with different scents until he could no longer tell if any of them were his own; loved to absorb as much culture as he could, until it bled into his own daily routines. Like a sponge, he took and took and took.

And like a sponge, there came a time where he could no longer take anything else. Kiyoomi saw and experienced it all, and now he’s done.

Or, at least, he tells himself as much.

There are times where his gaze will linger for a second too long on a random stranger’s face, and he’ll wonder what it is that keeps them going. Every once in a while, he’ll lower the top of the mask he’s taken to wearing in public to breathe in the smell of coffee that wafts to him through the shared air inside his office building. Once every blue moon, he’ll even try one of the snacks provided by the HR team at work, though he doesn’t make a habit of it. It’s the little things he allows himself, although he doesn’t indulge often; he has no right to.

Not after…

Well, that doesn’t matter.

Working a 9 to 5 job a few years after finishing high school is not exactly what Kiyoomi had dreamed, but he finds himself not completely hating it. He hates the fact he has to abandon the comfort of his own home for it, and that the people around him are loud and a little too friendly, but it could be worse. He could have ended up in some sort of retail job - just the thought of it makes him scowl under his mask. It’s really not that bad, in the end. He earns his living by filing away information behind a computer he sanitizes every morning, without fault, and no one bothers him. They tried, in the beginning, but were quick to understand that Kiyoomi wasn’t minimally interested in bonding with the rest of his team; they left him alone after that.

Kiyoomi looks up from his keyboard at work and can’t contain the soft sigh that passes his lips. It’s been a long morning. He’s been diligent with his work, maintaining a speed he’s calculated in his head so he won’t have spare time before his shift ends, but it’s draining his energy all the same. Deciding to take a quick break—something he doesn’t do often—he pushes back from his desk, the wheels on his office chair squeaking lightly underneath him, and stands up. He still has his earphones in—because thankfully he’s allowed to block out the sound of his workmates (so long as he gets his job done, that is) by listening to his favorite music—and doesn’t take them off even as he walks towards the break room. It’s a small space, with three tables occupying the room and two vending machines pressed against the wall - one for various snacks, the other for hot beverages. He approaches the one that provides him with a watered down, really disappointing cup of coffee first - despite the terrible taste, he will drink it nonetheless. When he’s inserted the coins and the machine has begun its slow process of pouring that excuse for coffee, he moves to the snacks machine next.

Kiyoomi usually has a system for choosing his snacks. He will allow himself to indulge in a different tasty treat once a month, only; nothing more, nothing less. Normally, he will look at the selection offered and cross out what he’s already had, in the past, until he narrows it down to a few options left; from there, he will use a randomizer from a website he looks up on his smartphone, and that will be it. As he looks at the vending machine, today, he realizes his system won’t work - most of the slots are empty, and he’s left with only treats he’s had before. He groans inwardly at the fact, considering if he can postpone his snacking day—he has noted it down as in his journal—but disregards the idea quickly; he shouldn’t change his schedule just because of a small inconvenience. Steeling himself, he pulls his smartphone from his pocket and puts the numbers of the snacks left on the machine in his usual randomizing website, and once it tells him which one to go for, he wastes no time putting the exact change into the machine, pressing the combination of keys that will deliver him his choice of snack for the day with his knuckles, and collecting it once it has fallen to the bottom of the machine. He grabs his hot coffee then, and walks over to stare out the window.

See, Kiyoomi has what athletes would call a ‘cheat day’. Normally, a cheat day is considered a treat for people with a strict nutritional regimen where they get to eat whatever they want without consequences; it’s their one day to go crazy on their cravings, on the calories they’ve been starving for while looking after their bodies. For Kiyoomi, his cheat day is a day where he indulges in the little things he no longer allows himself to enjoy. He tries a new snack, even though today he hasn’t had the option to; he stands by the low window of his office building to watch the people outside, and imagines their stories in his head; he lowers his mask when one of his office mates walks into the room with a warm drink that smells just a bit too strongly; he pretends the breeze in his hair as he walks home is sprinkled with sea salt, and caresses his face as he drifts across the ocean in a speedboat. For one day, he delays his travel home to enjoy the flicker of neon lights across a busy street, and basks in a sky too dark to perceive any stars, blinded by the successive lamp posts that illuminate his path.

He partakes in everything, and then the day ends and he’s once again held hostage by his own head.

You see, it goes like this:

Sakusa Kiyoomi was once young, and in love. He met the man of his dreams in high school, during his last year, after moving to Tokyo with his parents. They hit it off well, and soon enough he considered the man his best friend. On field trips, the two were seen together often, chatting quietly among themselves and laughing at something none of their classmates quite understood. Kiyoomi was bright and loud, and he gave affection with no qualms; he gave away his heart like it never belonged to him in the first place. It was actually a little painful, because his best friend was oblivious to his obvious infatuation, but time allowed them to make it to a point where they were on the same page. Kiyoomi fell in love fast, and _hard_ ; but it was okay, because he was loved in return, and that was enough. Together, they built a life around each other, as if being apart for even a second could break either of them.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was eighteen when he got married, and became Suzuki Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi was exalted with his new name, embracing it with strong arms and a wide smile. He loved the ring on his finger and the fact he was now a part of his first love’s family. He loved to travel with the man at his side, and the many adventures they went through, together. He held tight onto the memories of jumping off bridges into cold water of rivers that they most definitely shouldn’t be swimming in. He took photographs of his husband doing silly poses in front of historical monuments and printed every single one to tack onto an old notebook he’d received as a gift. They traveled through different countries and loved each other in different cities. They wasted their parents’ money like there was no tomorrow, but it was okay, because there was more where it came from. They lived, laughed, and loved. It was like in all those romantic comedies Kiyoomi’s mother had forced him to watch with her when he was younger - when he was still a Sakusa.

Life, however, catches up to everyone - even two frantic lovers who enjoy adventure more than they enjoy stability.

Chiyo—his husband, his lover, his partner in crime—had to return home when his father fell ill. Kiyoomi didn’t mind, really - they had seen so much, already; there was nothing more that he would love than to settle down for a little while, enjoy his life as a married man, possibly even go to university. So, the two of them returned to Tokyo, where Kiyoomi’s parents bought them an apartment—just big enough for the two of them, close to the center so they would be able to easily commute—and they settled there. Kiyoomi was happy; really, he was. He loved Chiyo more than he loved himself, most days; he devoted his life to this man, giving all he had to give and appreciating whatever he got in return. And even though he never did go to university, he was content with his status as a stay-at-home husband that allowed him to indulge in his hobbies freely.

Kiyoomi became a part of the Sakusa family again shortly after he turned twenty-two.

It went like this:

Kiyoomi and Chiyo were happy. They loved each other, but they also hurt each other - a lot. Kiyoomi was sometimes too quiet, afraid to voice his feelings in case they would disturb his husband; Chiyo was hot-headed, exploding at minor inconveniences. The two of them were like fire and gasoline - they burned bright, and high, but sometimes it was a little too much; sometimes, Kiyoomi ended his days alone in their shared bed, crying into his pillowcase about how he missed when they were carefree. They had one thing in common, however - neither of them knew how or when to give up. Kiyoomi did his best to act as happy as he had been when they were bouncing from town to town on their roadtrip through Europe, and Chiyo took to leaving the house whenever his emotions got the better of him, going Gods know where to let off his pent-up rage.

Kiyoomi likes to say that it all came to a head on a hot summer night where they were both too on edge, but he knows it’s not true; what happened that night was simply the catalyst to an end they’d been avoiding for a while now.

You see, Kiyoomi and Chiyo had been trying; they had been doing different things, going to new restaurants, visiting new towns on their weekends together. All in an effort to rekindle the spark of their love, a spark that had begun to dim overtime. And it was working, really - Kiyoomi didn’t cry as much, and Chiyo spent less time out of the house. Their relationship was on the rise again, climbing the mountain of their hearts until it reached the peak once more. Their friends and family gushed about how in love they were, calling them lucky for having found each other so early. Kiyoomi lived off their compliments. It was good, they were good, until that one hot summer night.

Kiyoomi and Chiyo went to a new bar in town together, that night. Another adventure for the two of them to explore. Neither of them were too interested in the bar scene, but it was something new, and they could always leave at any time. So, they went and they found themselves having fun. The strobes of light that flickered through their hair as they danced together were hypnotizing, the alcohol in their blood turning their thoughts into hazy streams. Kiyoomi excused himself for the bathroom, and when Chiyo offered to accompany him, he told him no; he didn’t want to stop his husband from having fun. So, he walked through the crowd gathered at the club, and he went to do his business.

He should have taken Chiyo’s offer, he realized, when he found himself trapped. There was a large man who had been watching him, and Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed. The same man who followed him into the shiny new bathroom and locked the two of them inside. His hands were larger than Kiyoomi’s, his shoulders broader; and that in itself was quite a feat already, because Kiyoomi works out, and he’s taller than most people he knew back then. He should have taken Chiyo’s offer, he thought as the man forced him against the cold tiles that made up the wall and one of his hands snuck under his shirt against his will. He should have accepted his husband’s offer, he repeated in his head, even as one of the bartenders unlocked the door and called for the security guard to get the man off him after only a few moments, before the man’s hand could drift any further.

He should have taken Chiyo’s offer, he thought - but, alas, he hadn’t. And so, when he was stable enough to leave the cold bathroom, after refusing the bartender’s offer to call the police, he found himself abandoning the thought. Upon re-entering the dance floor, he found his husband in the same spot he’d left him - dancing in the crowded room, hands poised low on a random stranger’s hips, a smile on his face. He felt… Kiyoomi still can’t describe, even after all this time. He felt hot and cold simultaneously; dirty, betrayed. Yet, he couldn’t disappoint Chiyo; he couldn’t bother his husband simply because he’d been careless. This was on him; Chiyo didn’t have to pay for it. So he plastered a smile on his lips, navigated through the people—this time, though, his skin didn’t buzz with excitement; it buzzed with a desire to scrub himself raw, rid himself of their sweat, their hormones, their heat—and tapped Chiyo’s shoulder from behind.

Together, the two danced the night away. Even though Kiyoomi was feeling sicker by the second, he smiled and grinded back against Chiyo, his hand tangled in his short brown hair where he could reach it. Even though his heart was racing, he drowned it out with alcohol to the point where he didn’t remember where the palpitations originated from. Even though he wanted to vomit all over his shoes, even though he felt unclean as Chiyo’s hand touched him that night, he endured it all with a smile, because Chiyo deserved nothing but the best. His love deserved everything good; he didn’t need to take the bad, Kiyoomi could handle that part.

Things shifted between them after that night, either way. Even though Kiyoomi didn’t breathe a word of what happened, he became acutely aware of how Chiyo didn’t wash his hands after he went to work, and who knew who had touched them in the meantime? He flinched if someone brushed a little too close to him in the train he took whenever he agreed to meet Chiyo for lunch. Their small adventures together became more scarce the more time went on - Kiyoomi was tired, had a headache, wasn’t feeling well… the excuses piled up and merged together until there were none left, and a simple “no” was what he said to Chiyo’s invitations. Kiyoomi felt bad, he did, but there was a darkness growing inside his chest that threatened to spill out through his lips whenever they kissed. He was barely holding it together, but he tried his best.

Until he couldn’t.

You see, it went like this:

Chiyo knew about what had happened. The truth spilled out of him one day, when his hot-headed rage became too much and he didn’t make it out of the house in time. He’d known all along, because the bartender who’d saved Kiyoomi that night—and wasn’t Kiyoomi terrible, not even asking for the man’s name, even after he saved him?—had seen them together and had gone to tell him. But, because Kiyoomi had asked the bartender not to call the police, and to be left alone in the bathroom for a while to recompose himself, Chiyo had decided to give him space. He continued to dance because he wanted to give Kiyoomi time, and he never pressed him to open up about it because he didn’t want to be overwhelming. He endured months of hardly any sexual interactions, and he didn’t force Kiyoomi out of the house, and he was patient - but he grew tired.

After half a year of no change, Chiyo was exhausted. And he yelled it all in Kiyoomi’s face, who simply… stood there. He stood there and took all the knives and arrows that Chiyo aimed at him, and he cried quietly only after he left. He waited in that same spot in the kitchen for his return, but he never returned - not that day, not the one after. After three days of waiting, Kiyoomi was forced out of the apartment by his cousin, who lived nearby. He broke into the place when Kiyoomi ignored his parents’ calls for too long, and he found him passed out on the kitchen floor. Komori woke him up and forced food down his throat, and he helped him shower and get into bed. He broke the news that Chiyo had sent his divorce papers through his parents, already. He helped Kiyoomi pack and drove him back to his parents’ house that same day.

Kiyoomi didn’t react straight away - his body was too weak, his mind too fragile. Although he cried, he didn’t blame Chiyo, and he didn’t break any plates at his expense. He didn’t begrudge him for leaving; after all, he deserved the best. And Kiyoomi, as he was, couldn’t be the best for him. And that was okay. It made sense. Kiyoomi told himself over and over that it made sense, that this was how life went, and he made peace with it. He packed his things and asked his parents to let him live in the house his grandmother had left when she’d passed, far from the city and its contaminated streets. He began writing and sending his work to whoever was willing to read. He lived off his parents’ money and their benevolence until he felt like he could function semi-normally amidst other people. He found a job—nothing too crazy, nothing that involved large crowds and too many unfamiliar faces—and he settled down. He continued to write under a pen-name, and he started his life as a new man.

It goes like this:

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a hermit. Not by choice, but because it’s the least painful of paths he could choose to walk down on. He could try to confront his past and see if he’s doing well enough to overcome it. He could put himself out there, and allow his heart to heal in a way it never was able to. He could choose to indulge in the things that remind him of how he lived, before, and test the limits of the fence he’s built around his darkness; check if it’s eased up in its eagerness to crawl out of his chest. He could do any of that, because Komori constantly tells him that he’s strong enough for it, and that he will be beside him through it all. Kiyoomi is, quite frankly, not interested. He’s okay with how life is now - he has a stable job and nice income; he gets to write as a hobby; he gets to grow vegetables in his small garden, and might even consider adopting a dog, further in the future. He has his life planned out like this - simple, quiet, unchanging.

Enter Miya Atsumu.

Miya Atsumu enters Kiyoomi’s life—much to his chagrin—like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a particularly nasty storm. He barges into the office when Kiyoomi is sitting back down at his desk, and he only notices because he causes a ruckus loud enough to pierce through one of Mozart’s sonatas that’s still playing in his ears. Atsumu’s dark red suit is rumpled and crinkled in all the wrong places, his black tie askew against his untucked white shirt, and still all Kiyoomi can think is _bright, bright, bright_ \- his eyes can’t look away from the tufts of blonde hair at the top of his head, rearranged messily as if he’s been running. Considering the state of him, Kiyoomi guesses that’s exactly what he has been doing. Not that Kiyoomi cares much; he has no idea who he is, even. He just surprised him with the noise, is all.

Kiyoomi looks back down at the screen of his computer as he wakes it, typing in his login password as the sounds of a violin continue to swim through his eardrums. He pointedly ignores the sound of a door opening and closing, and simply gets back to work straight away, his focus reserved for the document he’s working on. It’s not something he is passionate about, but he has developed a rhythm for it, a certain acquired taste for what he does; enough to make him not want to throw himself in front of a moving bus every single day, at least. And the thought that after he finishes work, he has the opportunity to experience Tokyo as night falls, as the streets fill with more and more people and the sun gives way to artificial lights - well, it keeps him a little more focused.

At least, until he feels three fingers tap his shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch when people touch him, now; he has gotten past that point in his discomfort. Still, it’s not like he enjoys it, so he has no trouble turning to face the person calling for his attention with a glare. It’s the man from earlier - Miya Atsumu, but Kiyoomi doesn’t know his name yet. You see, he recognizes his face, but not clearly; it strikes something akin to a memory in his brain, but Kiyoomi can’t quite place it. Instead of trying to figure out where that memory is hiding inside his brain, however, he opts to continue to gaze with a displeased flame in his eyes at this man, removing his earphones slowly to understand why he touched him in the first place.

“What?” Kiyoomi’s voice is gruff, muffled by the face mask he refuses to take off. By now, it’s a habit more than a necessity, but he’s happy to continue to wear it.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, right?” The blonde man asks, hand retreating to his side as Kiyoomi’s attention settles on him. He looks more composed than earlier, but there are still stray hairs that refuse to stick to the rest of his re-styled mane, and Kiyoomi is only mildly distracted.

“That is my name,” he responds, dark eyes finding brown ones.

“Great. Can I see ya in my office for a few minutes?”

_His office?_

Kiyoomi raises a confused eyebrow at the request, and then it dawns on him— _his office_.

This is his boss, for certain. Miya Atsumu - founder and CEO of Miya Enterprises. The rumpled suit and hair mean nothing, now; the touch to his shoulder is forgotten. Kiyoomi may hate the fact he has to be an active part of society to support his life as a hermit, but he would very much not want to lose his job because he was a bit too rude to his boss. He clears his throat, giving a curt nod and rising to his feet even as Atsumu doesn’t move. This only means that they end up chest to chest in the middle of the office, the other people watching as Kiyoomi towers over Atsumu, even if their height difference is minimal.

“Uhm. Miya?”

“Ah- sorry, Sakusa. Let’s go.”

Kiyoomi tries really hard not to let his confusion show on his face at his boss’ hesitation. He tries to reign in the raise of his eyebrow and scowl of his lips, but, thankfully, Atsumu turns his back before he absolutely fails. He gives it a few moments so that they build some distance between the two of them. He’s still unsure what happened just a few seconds ago, but decides to tuck the thought away for later pondering as he crosses the door into his boss’ office. Atsumu had been waiting for him behind the door, closing it after Kiyoomi is inside, and he watches as the blonde crosses the room to get to his desk, falling down on his executive chair with a large sigh. Kiyoomi, for his part, remains standing, hands behind his back. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough to sit on one of the two chairs placed across from Atsumu.

“Ya can sit if ya’d like,” his boss says after just a moment, elbows on his desk so he can rest his chin on his intertwined fingers. “I promise s’not something bad. Well. Dependin’ on how ya look at it, anyway.”

“I’d rather not, if that’s alright.”

“Suit yerself.” Kiyoomi sees Atsumu sigh once more, before one side of his lips quirks up in an attempt of a smile. “Right. So. I need a favor from ya.”

“A… favor?”

“A favor. Not as yer boss- well. Kind of as yer boss.” There’s a short pause, in which Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow without caring if his boss sees or not. “I- ah. Fuck. Look. I need ya to go to a stupid family dinner with me.”

“You… what?” There’s no disguising the clear shock in Kiyoomi’s voice as both his eyes widen to look at Atsumu, who stares back at him with a sheepish smile. “A family dinner? What do I- no.”

“Hear me out! I, uh. Look. I told my folks I was bringin’ someone to dinner tonight, but some shit came up and that’s not happenin’ now. I can’t bring anyone else in the company ‘cause they’ve all been to various outings where Samu’s been… except you. So. I need ya to pretend to be my date for dinner tonight.”

“That’s… the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Kiyoomi doesn’t feel bad about his insult now; he doesn’t fear for his job, because what’s been asked of him is so utterly ridiculous, he feels he deserves to voice out his thoughts without care. “Why don’t you simply tell your parents that your date cancelled on you? Why do you feel the need to drag me into this lie of yours?”

“I know, I know, but ma’s been so excited to meet my boyfriend, I just can’t tell her I fucked it up, _again_ , before she even had a chance to meet the guy,” Atsumu replies, another sigh passing through his lips before they settle in a soft pout. “Look, I know it’s stupid, but I really need yer help. Of course, you’re free to say no, but I’d owe ya big time, if ya did this for me. Like. _Big time_.”

Kiyoomi wants to scoff at the simple notion that he would pretend to be his boss’ boyfriend, out of nowhere, and for what? An hypothetical favor that Atsumu would owe him? He really wants to laugh. If—and that’s a big if—Atsumu had offered something substantial in return for his help, he might’ve considered it; considered, but most likely refused nonetheless. He’s not good at pretending, and he’s been trying so hard to not be a part of society, he isn’t even sure he’d know how to interact with Atsumu’s family in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know how to interact with the man on his own, because _he doesn’t know this man at all._

“No.” Kiyoomi’s tone is final, but at the whine that leaves Atsumu’s throat, he elaborates. “ _No_. I get nothing from this but the chance at an hypothetical favor in the future. Besides, I really don’t think I would be the best choice - in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at the whole ‘interacting with people’ thing. If I were to agree, I’d most likely end up making matters worse for you in the end. So, man up, tell your parents your boyfriend ditched you, and that’s done.”

“Saku— _Kiyoomi_. Please.”

“No. And don’t call me by my first name, Miya. This is your mess, don’t drag me into it.”

“It’s _free dinner_ at that new restaurant everyone’s been ragin’ about, Omi. And I’ll owe ya a favor of your choosin’. What more d’you want?”

“That new- wait, no, that’s not my name, don’t call me that.”

“Ya said I couldn’t call ya by your first name, ya didn’t say shit about nicknames.”

“I’m saying it now, Miya, don’t.”

“Nope, too late, Omi-kun.”

“ _Fine_.” The world leaves Kiyoomi’s lips before he can reconsider it, a mix between a resigned sigh and a growl. “I’ll go to your stupid dinner, but you have to stop calling me that once it’s over. And you’ll still owe me the favor. And you’ll pay for me.”

In truth, Kiyoomi had considered saying yes ever since Atsumu said that they were going to the hot new restaurant everyone was talking about at the office. Kiyoomi had wanted to go by himself during one of his ‘cheat days’, but the place was booked well into next year already, so he’d dropped the idea. Now that the opportunity was presenting itself to him, however, he felt the vicious need to go there, all over again - like he used to feel, whenever an adventure presented itself to him, in his past. His heartbeat goes a little faster. His soul wanders already, looking for something fresh. It craves something new; something to break the monotony he has carved into his routine with precise hands. He doesn’t say any of it, however, and his face doesn’t betray what’s going on inside his chest; he remains stoic, composed, as if he’s not counting the seconds until he gets off work, already.

“I can do that!” Atsumu breaks through his thoughts with a bright grin and a clap of his hands, and Kiyoomi startles only slightly as the man stands from his chair. “Look, I can pick ya up at around 7:30, how does that sound?”

“I won’t be going home after work.” Kiyoomi thanks his lucky stars that he’s wearing one of his best suits for work today, so he won’t have to rush home to change into a better outfit for this dinner. “I… have some personal business to tend to around here. I can meet you by the restaurant, if that’s easier.”

“Oh, nah, that’s fine, just meet me here at that time then, if yer gonna be around.” Atsumu sits back down, relaxing back in his chair this time around, and Kiyoomi can’t help the way his eyes travel down the column of his exposed throat for a second. Something about the way it’s framed by the collar of his shirt seems to be calling for his attention. “Can ya gimme yer number? I need to send ya a list of details yer supposed to know, considerin’ we’re supposed to be datin’ for awhile now.”

“Can’t you get it from the employees list? I’m sure it’s in there.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy, Omi-kun,” Atsumu retorts easily, and Kiyoomi is left staring at the small bundle of sticky notes he’s holding out, along with a pen. “Just write it down here, I’ll text ya soon. Text me back any relevant facts I should know about ya, okay?”

“I— sure.” Kiyoomi sighs but takes the stationary offered to him, the glide of the pen over the paper careful and measured as he writes down his phone number. “I won’t be seeing this until I clock out, but I’ll compile a list by then. Is that everything? I have work to catch up on.”

“Ah, yeah, go ahead Omi-kun. Thanks for this, really.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t offer his boss a verbal reply; he doesn’t have one, really. He’s still unsure about why he caved, in the first place, to the man’s plea. He knows his desire to go to that new restaurant is part of it, yes, but he could’ve squandered the craving down, like he’s done before. So, why? Why had he accepted to pretend to be this man’s boyfriend—without even knowing the first thing about him—and ruined his only cheat day by spending it with strangers? Why had he said yes to his puppy dog eyes and cute little pout? Why had he been so unnerved by the desperation he heard in his voice?

_Why was he so familiar?_

Deciding to put the questions aside, Kiyoomi returns to his desk in relative peace. Now that he knows, at least, that he didn’t do some irreversible damage that will get him laid off his job, he feels calmer. He settles into his rhythm once more, the tips of his fingers flying over his keyboard as he tries to catch up on the work he missed during his small meeting with Miya Atsumu. It’s a little upsetting that he has to rush his pre-established rhythm because the man is an idiot, but doesn’t that also make him an idiot for accepting the deal in the first place? He won’t dwell on it— _he won’t_ —but the thought remains in the back of his mind, floating above everything else like the ghost of a cloud that doesn’t dare become a storm. It seems to plague him whenever he loses focus, so he tries double as hard as he usually does to keep his mind fully engrossed in the various documents he’s working on. After a while, he forgets all about his deal with his boss and the questions still circling above him like ravens waiting to swoop down and eat him as he dies – he can only see what’s right in front of him.

By the time his shift ends, Kiyoomi is just done with all the work he set out to do today. Despite the disturbance in his routine, he was able to catch up on lost time and settle back into his usual work rhythm once he did so. He doesn’t hesitate as he stands from his desk, after carefully rearranging everything back into its proper place. He doesn’t glance at Miya Atsumu’s office door—which remained closed for the rest of the day—and he doesn’t stop on his way out of the building to check if the man is still inside. What he does, however, is start his usual track down the road, walking amidst the people as they begin to file into the streets. He’s removed his mask—it sits well folded inside his pocket—and is taking in the different smells. There are street vendors around, he can tell, and there are the smells of different parfums as he travels the streets. He stops for a moment – he wishes he could allow himself to experience this freely, once again. Pushing that thought out of his head, he recalls his deal with his boss, and grabs his smartphone from his pocket. There’s a message from an unknown number in it, and Kiyoomi opens it without preamble.

As he imagined, it’s a message from his boss. There’s that ridiculous nickname as a greeting, and a bunch of too complicated depictions of expressions using punctuation that Kiyoomi has never been fond of, and then there’s the promised list of things he should know for dinner tonight. It’s long, but detailed; Kiyoomi appreciates it, considering he really knows next to nothing about the man. All he knows about Miya Atsumu is that he’s the CEO of the company he works for. Ah, he also knows he’s a klutz, considering his accident as he walked into the office earlier that day. And that he’s an idiot that can’t keep a boyfriend, apparently.

  * _We’ve been dating for a month now. I didn’t tell anyone how we met yet so we can just say we caught each other’s eye at work._


  * _Our first date was to the dog park because neither of us has a dog but we both want one. I was the one to ask you out._


  * _You’ve been to my apartment before. I’ll send pictures later for reference. I haven’t been to yours yet. My brother knows this._


  * _My favorite food is tuna mayo onigiri._


  * _Only previous relationships worth noting were with Kita Shinsuke (high school) and Hinata Shouyou (college). We’ll be going to Kita’s new restaurant tonight. Hinata will be there with his boyfriend, as well. I’ve remained good friends with both of them._


  * _The reason for tonight’s dinner is to celebrate my twin brother’s engagement to our friend Suna Rintarou – he owns a bar with me downtown (Shouyou works there as a bartender). They’ve been dating since high school._


  * _I used to play volleyball until I finished college, as a setter. I can explain better on our way to the restaurant._


  * _Osamu and I both went to college to study business management – I ended up creating Miya Enterprises and opening the bar, he went on to open Onigiri Miya. Suna plays volleyball professionally for EJP Raijin, too._


  * _My favorite flowers are daffodils._



Kiyoomi looks over the list one more time after he’s done reading, humming quietly as he starts wandering down the street once again. It’s a good list, though it doesn’t really tell him much about who Miya Atsumu is, as a person. He likes dogs, apparently, and played volleyball most of his life; but does he cry when a dog dies in a movie? Does he still play volleyball as a hobby, now? Was his goal to pursue a professional volleyball career and something happened to lead him down this path, or was it always just a passing passion? Does he get along well with his brother? He loves tuna mayo onigiri, but what food does he absolutely despise? Kiyoomi finds himself typing the questions out, but before he can hit send, he deletes the entire message – he can’t let his curiosity get the better of him. He’s just in this for the food, the hypothetical favor, and so he won’t have to deal with that aberrant nickname anymore.

Instead of asking everything he wants to know, Kiyoomi settles for writing back his own list. He doesn’t offer a greeting - he knows his boss will understand who’s texting him back. He writes down what he can think of; information equivalent to the one he was given, even if some of it makes him grimace.

  * _I don’t have a dog, but do want one, so that will be easy to handle. I’ve been looking around some shelters._


  * _No one has been to my house; I live in an isolated area. That works._


  * _My favorite food is umeboshi._


  * _I used to be married. Got divorced at twenty-two – haven’t dated since._


  * _I don’t frequent bars._


  * _I used to play volleyball as a wing spiker until I finished high school. I did not go to college._


  * _I don’t have a favorite flower._



Kiyoomi reviews his list, which is much shorter and concise, and then nods to himself as he sends it off. He hopes there’s enough in there that they can pretend to have been dating for a month, but clears his head of any thought right after. Miya Atsumu is already intruding on quite a lot of his time, today—between the meeting and the dinner later, that is—so Kiyoomi wipes him off his mind for now. He wants to enjoy the setting sun, the flicker of neon lights as they come alive around him, the sounds of the people going about their own life as he stands still. It’s like he’s pressed pause in his own life, and he gets to enjoy other people’s, instead; it’s certainly much less painful, in a sense. He gets to fill his mind with thoughts of what others are doing, where they’re headed, who is waiting for them back home; he gets to ignore the quiet of his own home, the gape in his chest that’s been covered—but not healed—and the darkness that still lurks inside his lungs, waiting to be breathed out in a tired exhale. He gets to lose himself inside other people’s lives, even if just for a few hours; it’s his only time to have some peace, to quietly feel something that’s not the heavy weight of having to atone for his own sins.

After roughly two hours since his shift ended, Kiyoomi finds himself walking back to his office building. It’s a tall thing, just off the side of the main street of Shibuya, and he leans back against it when he arrives. The agreed time with Atsumu was 7:30, but Kiyoomi is a little early – he miscalculated the time it would take for him to arrive, in the end. Still, he makes no motion to go inside; he doesn’t think it’d be a wise idea. He’s looking out at the lamp posts and the people walking underneath them when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Grabbing it, he reads his boss’ most recent message, asking him to meet him in the underground car park for the company, and kicks away from the wall to do just that.

Kiyoomi knows the path to the underground car park only because his cousin had driven him to and from work on a week off only a few months prior, which he’d decided to spend bothering Kiyoomi. Though he never said it, Kiyoomi appreciated the company and the change of pace – coming home to someone there, even if it was Komori, was a welcome respite of the loneliness that seemed to crush him at times. He enjoys the quiet, and he knows he deserves to be alone, but it was a nice change. Sometimes, he considers that he’s atoned for his sins enough, and that he’s allowed to live his life again, but the thought is quickly washed away in the shower. He did this to himself, by keeping all of his feelings bottled; it would be unfair on Chiyo if he allowed himself to let go of everything now, when he couldn’t do it when they were together.

“Omi-kun, over here!”

Kiyoomi snaps his head up, from where he was watching his steps, to look at Atsumu. He’s beside a low, sleek black car, key in hand as he waves. As if his booming voice hadn’t been enough to call for his attention, already. Kiyoomi offers a small wave to the man, only to let him know he’s been seen, and hurries his step until he stands beside him. Miya looks much more composed than earlier—shirt straightened and buttons done to the top, much to Kiyoomi’s momentary sadness—and his smile also seems less nervous. He has obviously shrugged off the very real possibility that his family and friends will not believe a word they say while pretending to be a couple; Kiyoomi can’t seem to.

“When you said ‘stupid family dinner’, I assumed it was something small, with perhaps just your parents,” Kiyoomi comments, an eyebrow raised as he looks at the slightly shorter man. “Not a whole engagement party with everyone you’ve ever known in attendance, Miya.”

“Look, it’ll be fine! Yer the quiet and mysterious type, ya can keep that up during dinner, I’ll answer any questions. All ya gotta do is look pretty and let me hold your hand or whatever sometimes.”

“So I’m just glorified arm candy, I see.” Kiyoomi really doesn’t mean to tease his boss so much, but can’t help the small satisfied smirk that tilts the corner of his lips upwards as he sees Atsumu pout. “That’s fine. I can hold my own. Just would’ve liked to have known the magnitude of the event beforehand.”

“Sorry, Omi-kun. Yer a real life-saver, y’know?” Atsumu smiles, and it’s so wide, Kiyoomi feels the need to look away before he— before he what? He isn’t even sure. “Get in, we’ve gotta get goin’. Samu’ll tear me a new one if I’m late.”

Kiyoomi only nods as he walks around the car until he’s at the passenger's side, opening the door and settling down in the seat beside Atsumu before he closes it. The interiors are immaculately clean, and there’s a fresh lemon scent that assaults his nose as soon as both doors are locked. It’s clear the car is a recent model—what with the amount of technology he can spot from his end—and Kiyoomi enjoys getting to experience its speed. It’s another new thing for him, today; another adventure he really shouldn’t partake in, but that he allows himself to enjoy either way. This day is already out of bounds—so far out of control that Kiyoomi’s lost sight of where it will lead him—so he might as well go with the flow. He settles back against the upholstery, fingertips grazing beside his thigh as he marvels at the quality of the fake leather the seat is wrapped in.

“So, ‘bout the apartment, I never did send any photos,” Atsumu says after a few moments of quiet, driving through the streets at a contained speed. “I realized I really don’t have any. Anyway, I doubt they’ll ask ya anythin’ about the place, but just so ya know, it’s a penthouse in Shibuya. There are three bedrooms, the master is ensuite, and there are two additional bathrooms. The terrace has a jacuzzi and everything. I’ve been thinkin’ of starting a little urban garden up there, and possibly get a dog too, but. Haven’t had much time.”

“That’s… eccentric.” Kiyoomi looks out the window, trying to imagine why a man like Atsumu—obviously single and painfully incapable of getting a date on his own—needs such a big place. “You’re really taking the whole ‘young bachelor’ thing to the extreme. If you’re living alone, why the need for such a big apartment? And in Shibuya, of all places?”

“It’s… I guess I just want to think ahead.” Atsumu’s voice is quieter this time around, and Kiyoomi chances a glance at the man. He looks gorgeous as he drives, the lights they pass flickering by his face like flashes of a camera. Kiyoomi wishes he could be the one to capture this moment, only for a second. “Look, I know what it looks like, havin’ to ask ya to come with me tonight, but I just… I wanna settle down. Samu’s got Sunarin, I can’t keep dependin’ on his company. My date cancelled on me today because he said I’m too overwhelming, apparently, and that he needed space because I kept wanting to do things with him. I wasn’t even doing that much, but I guess…”

“Well, it seems to be a fact that you don’t know how to quit,” Kiyoomi concedes, almost laughing at the frown that he sees appear on Atsumu’s expression immediately. “But that can also be a good thing. Isn’t that how you ended up founding the company? And you did convince me to come to this thing with you. Despite leaving some _very important_ details out of the proposal. I think being ‘overwhelming’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use; I think you’re just determined.”

“That’s the nicest thing ya’ve said to me all day, Omi-kun.”

“Don’t make me take it back.” Kiyoomi glares as Atsumu glances at him, his wide grin back on his lips. “You’re insufferable, don’t take me wrong. But I don’t think it’s such a bad thing, in a relationship context. Isn’t it normal to want to be with your significant other? Isn’t it normal to want to entrust them with your deepest thoughts, with your everything? Perhaps it can be overwhelming, and if you’re not ready it can be crushing even, but I don’t believe anything less should be given. If you give your lover less than your all, what is it all for, in the end?”

“Ya tell me, Omi-kun. Yer the one who was married.”

Although he knows Atsumu didn’t mean it in a malicious way, the words he says still sting. Kiyoomi looks away from his sharp profile in an instant, dark eyes capturing the passing of the trees and buildings all around them. He feels the old ache in his chest resurface, the burning in his throat as if he’s eaten something rotten. It’s not a pretty feeling—one he’d dare write prose or poetry about—but he feels it all the same. He swallows dryly to squash it down, press it so far away he doesn’t have the chance to accidentally release it in the near future.

“Yes. And I’m the one who is also divorced because of it.” Kiyoomi’s voice is a mere whisper, but it’s loud enough that he knows Atsumu caught onto what he said.

“Okay, so that’s off-limits, I take it. It’s fine, we don’t have to bring it up during dinner, Omi,” the driver offers, and Kiyoomi breathes a little easier, shoulders slumping as he turns his face to look at Atsumu again. “Anyway. We’re almost there. Is it okay if I hold yer hand walkin’ in? I’ve noticed ya like to wear a mask and avoid contact with yer peers at work, so I can totally not do that if yer not comfortable.”

Kiyoomi blinks twice as the words catch up to him. While they’re true, he didn’t think Atsumu would have cared about his comfort enough to even bring it up. In fact, Kiyoomi is shocked at how attentive Atsumu had been. The fact he wears a mask couldn’t have been avoided he knew, considering Kiyoomi hardly ever took it off during work—only for meals—but he had also noticed how he subtly avoided touch with any of his teammates at work. He had perfected the art of sliding away before a hand fell on his shoulder, for instance. The shock of this revelation that Atsumu had been paying such close attention to him keeps him glued to his seat even as the car comes to a stop and his boss leaves the vehicle. He only moves when the passenger door is opened for him, and he looks at Atsumu with wide eyes.

“Ya okay there, Omi? D’ya need a minute?”

“I’m— I’m fine.”

Kiyoomi unbuckles his seatbelt in a swift motion and steps out of the car, careful not to hit his forehead as he does so. He brushes away a few wrinkles that have settled in his suit pants, from sitting for so long, and when he straightens up, finds Atsumu smiling softly at him. It’s a bit jarring, how he can switch from a teasing grin to a genuine smile so suddenly, but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind; his heart is racing with the whiplash, his soul soaring with the unexpectedness of it all. It’s almost like the times he’d get the globe in his living room spinning and then stop it with a tip of his finger – wherever it landed marked the next destination of his travels. Most of the places he’d seen with Chiyo had been chosen just like that, pins gently stuck to the globe afterwards. Kiyoomi doesn’t know where the globe is, now.

Before he can think about it enough for the darkness to sweep upwards again, Kiyoomi walks beside Atsumu towards the entrance of the restaurant across the street. The door has a big, beautiful sign that reads ‘reserved’, which lets him know the space has been closed off to anyone who is not a part of the Miya celebration. He feels almost like an intruder, becoming a part of such an important family moment, but reaches for Atsumu’s hand as they cross the street nonetheless, fingers intertwined with his out of habit. He feels the stutter in his boss’ step, but doesn’t slow his own down, almost dragging him until they’re standing in front of the closed door. Just a few seconds later, the door swings open, and a man looking like a carbon copy of Atsumu is where the door used to be, hands on his hips as he stares down at the blonde.

“You’re late.” Atsumu’s carbon copy—who Kiyoomi assumes is his twin brother Osamu—says, tone displeased. “We’ve been waitin’ for ya, ya scrub.”

“Shut it, Samu, an’ let us in already.”

The use of plural seems to ignite something in Osamu’s brain, because his eyes turn to Kiyoomi, and he finds himself under scrutiny. For half a second, he sees the surprise in the man’s eyes, before he gives him a once over, stopping for a few moments too long on his hand, which is still pressed tightly to Atsumu’s. Once Osamu’s eyes find his own face again, Kiyoomi offers a slightly raised eyebrow, questioning silently what is that harsh glare for, which seems to be enough to make the man break into a laugh.

“Tsumu. Did ya hire someone to come with ya tonight?” The grey-haired twin asks, turning his attention back to his brother, and Kiyoomi recoils slightly, unsure if he should be offended. “I would’a believed it if he wasn’t so pretty, but…”

“Hey, what’s taking— Kiyoomi?”

The voice is familiar – too familiar. Kiyoomi’s eyes widen as Osamu turns to face the man addressing them and he finds his cousin behind him, looking impeccably dressed, another tall man beside him. Kiyoomi only has a second to make the connection – because, of course, he should’ve known Komori would be here, considering he plays for the same team Atsumu told him Suna plays for.

“You know each other?” The tall man besides Komori asks, and by the way he wraps his arm around Osamu’s waist, Kiyoomi assumes he’s the twins’ childhood friend—and Osamu’s fiancé—Suna Rintarou.

“He’s my cousin?” Komori answers, but his tone is so confused it sounds more like a question than anything else. “Kiyo, what are you doing here?”

There’s a tense few moments of silence where Kiyoomi wonders what the best course of action to follow is. Should he drop all pretenses and leave Atsumu to fend for himself? Komori knows Kiyoomi well enough to know he’s been living in self-imposed isolation ever since things went sour with Chiyo. He’s been the one to help him reconstruct a life that was solely built around a man that was no longer in it. He’s been constantly pestering him to get out more, to make friends, try dating again – he feels terrible about lying to him. Still, he made a promise to Atsumu, and he’s a man of his word.

“I’m here with Atsumu,” Kiyoomi answers, and he sends a thank you to whatever entity above him that ensures his voice doesn’t waver. “We’ve been dating for a month and he asked me if I’d like to come tonight,” he continues, diverging his attention to the newly-engaged couple who’s still beside the door watching the interaction. “Congratulations, by the way. I would’ve brought something, but Atsumu said it wasn’t necessary.”

“They should be glad I even came,” Atsumu finally speaks from beside him, and Kiyoomi looks at his face to find him pouting slightly, a finger pointed at his twin. “Now can we come in, ya jerk? Or are ya gonna ask Komori if his cousin’s some sorta boyfriend for rent?”

“I— what?” Komori is still visibly confused, his eyes flickering between Kiyoomi and Atsumu, and sometimes their intertwined hands. “Kiyo, seriously? I tell you to go out and date and you end up dating _your boss_?”

“The heart doesn’t make a choice based on profession,” Kiyoomi retorts easily, rolling his eyes as he’s tugged inside by a still-pouting Atsumu. “I’ll give you any details you’re looking for later, just stop looking like a gaping fish, it’s not a good look on you.”

When Atsumu snorts from beside him, Kiyoomi can’t help the self-satisfied grin that uplifts his lips for a moment. He glances at the blonde man he’s walking with, and finds his brown eyes focused back on his own face, gaze softened. The lights inside the restaurant—which is beautiful, but Kiyoomi doesn’t find himself really caring—reflect in his orbs, making it seem like there’s gold particles floating in his irises, and Kiyoomi wants to lean closer, count the specks until he’s sure he’s captured them all. He holds himself back, however, especially as he’s pulled in a random direction to start meeting Atsumu’s friends and family.

It goes like this:

For the rest of the night, Kiyoomi finds himself forgetting about the darkness lurking inside his chest. He meets more people than he’s met in the past three years of his existence—because life might be a word too strong to describe the passing of time for Kiyoomi—and he finds himself laughing at anecdotes that he doesn’t half-understand, but can see playing out inside his head. He spends his time by Atsumu’s side with a semi-permanent grin on his lips and a fluttery feeling in his chest that he hasn’t felt in many years. He enjoys the food they’re offered, and that quenches the craving he had to try this restaurant’s food in particular, and he swallows the wine they’re given with gusto. It’s not enough to get him drunk, but he feels lighter; he feels carefree. When he meets Kita Shinsuke and Hinata Shouyou—at different points during the night—he finds himself wondering how they had let Atsumu go; he finds himself comparing their looks to his own, and their personalities that are so different from one another.

As the night progresses and the wine travels down his system until it seems to evaporate, he starts to sober up. Still, he feels happier than he has in a long time, and that feeling carries him to the dancefloor with Atsumu, his fake-date. The older guests—namely parents, aunts and uncles—have left by now, and the party has been reduced to high school and college friends of Osamu and Rintarou, and some co-workers. Hinata Shouyou is sitting in a taller man’s lap talking enthusiastically with another man whose silver hairdo reminds Kiyoomi a little too much of an owl. From what he’s learned, the man below Shouyou is his boyfriend—professional volleyball player Kageyama Tobio—and the man across from the two is the bouncer for Rintarou’s bar, Bokuto Koutarou. Osamu and Rin are dancing together and that’s where Atsumu has dragged Kiyoomi, hands on his waist after checking that Kiyoomi doesn’t mind it; his only response was to wrap his own arms around Atsumu’s shoulders. They’re swinging side to side to the rhythm of the music playing in the background. It’s not a suffocating club with sweaty bodies and a deafening bass that seemed to set the pace for his heartbeat, back in the day, but Kiyoomi is having _fun_.

“Gotta say, Omi, wasn’t expecting ya to be this much fun,” Atsumu whispers as the two dance together, just loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear but so they won’t be overheard by anyone else. “I was sure ya were gonna sit in yer chair all night an’ make polite conversation with my folks.”

“I did that, too,” Kiyoomi responds with a playful lilt to his tone, and when Atsumu chuckles, he feels the puff of his breath against his ear; it takes him all he has not to shudder. “Just because I’m usually more reserved, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun.”

“I can see that.” Atsumu hums, and the low sound of his voice has Kiyoomi lean just a little closer to him, his hand finding the hair on the back of Atsumu’s head and holding onto it. “Omi, can I be honest with ya?”

“Mmhm?”

“I think I’d like to take you out – for real.”

Kiyoomi could be shocked at the words; it would be plausible to feel affronted, to pull back and stare into Atsumu’s face in surprise. It would be logical of him to feel the fear crawl up his chest – that same old fear that has been holding him hostage, away from society, for as long as he’s been divorced. The fear that he’s not good enough, that he won’t be able to give all of himself, that he won’t be able to keep Atsumu happy. It would make sense to be overtaken by it, and for him to push the other man away. Yet, he finds himself not moving, not pushing, because his eyes have caught onto something a lot more daunting.

“Chiyo?”

The name falls from his lips like that last drop of water into an overflowing cup. It’s a tiny sound, but it roars so much louder inside his head; his ex-husband’s wide eyes seem to mimic the feeling. Kiyoomi doesn’t pull away from Atsumu, but his boss pulls back anyway, and looks behind him when he sees his shocked expression. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t have time to, because Chiyo is already talking, and he sounds older, wiser; he sounds _sad_. Kiyoomi’s covered wound seems to be exposed once again, and his heart hurts so bad inside his chest he finds himself reaching for it, fist clenched over his shirt.

“Kiyoomi.” Chiyo doesn’t stop a second, his words barreling through the distance they have between them like dark clouds rolling into a storm. “It’s good to know you’re doing okay,” he says, and although his expression doesn’t change, Kiyoomi can hear the despair in his tone. “I see you’ve moved on,” he goes, and Kiyoomi can feel the venom cover his skin. “Good for you. I’m glad one of us was able to.”

“Who the—” Atsumu tries to shield Kiyoomi at the last sentence, but he’s interrupted before he’s able to finish.

“Oh you bastard!” Komori is there—right, how could Kiyoomi forget?—and he’s storming through the few people still gathered to celebrate, and before he can be stopped he’s holding Suzuki Chiyo by the collar of his shirt with a force that’s a little excessive. “What the hell? How do you dare try to pin this on Kiyoomi, you good-for-nothing asshole?”

“Komori-san!”

Hinata Shouyou has jumped from his boyfriend’s lap to pull his cousin from where he’s holding Chiyo and, _oh_ , how could Kiyoomi forget? The moment he sees Shouyou’s face, the memory flutters and solidifies in his head, and he sees that same expression on younger features as he pulled a larger man from where he was crowding Kiyoomi against a wall. Bokuto Koutarou is there next, and he’s the one holding Komori now – he was the one to hold the offender back then, too. Kiyoomi feels the sweat press against his skin in uncomfortable places, and he feels his vision swim—from too much alcohol maybe—and holds onto Atsumu’s arm for support.

“I was just saying—” Chiyo starts, his voice composed despite the commotion Komori has caused, and the tone is so vicious, yet so calm, that something inside Kiyoomi snaps.

He’s brought back to his senses all at once, eyes focusing on his ex-husband as Shouyou stays beside him—most likely to prevent him from launching at Komori in retaliation—and he swears he hears the sound of another drop fall onto the cup that’s too full, and suddenly it’s overbearing. Suddenly, the water rushes down the sides of the glass, and somehow it continues to overflow, and the liquid extends as far as the surface below the glass will allow it. Inside Kiyoomi there is darkness that’s been held at bay for too long, and as it breaks the dam and charges through, his grip tightens on Atsumu’s bicep, though his voice doesn’t rise.

“You left me.”

There’s silence. Kiyoomi is sure that, despite how low he spoke, everyone could hear. The music has been cut off, possibly when the commotion began, and Chiyo doesn’t dare speak.

Not that Kiyoomi would let him.

“You left me. You knew I was hurting—you knew what happened that night—and you left me.” Kiyoomi sees the way Shouyou looks at him and his eyes widen, recognition sparked in his own gaze, but he doesn’t focus there. He looks back at his ex-husband, and the darkness he’d been so afraid to let go of flows free – the darkness he’d been so afraid of poisoning Chiyo with through a kiss is now aimed at him in the form of pointed bullets. “You could’ve said something. You knew me – you knew I’d never say anything because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to make you bear that cross with me, but you knew all along. And you chose to say nothing. And when you finally did, you left. And I was left to languish in our kitchen until Komori came. I waited for you, Chiyo – I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep; I could’ve died there, waiting for you. But you never came.”

Releasing his grip on Atsumu’s arm, Kiyoomi walks the distance between him and his past, one step at a time. He thinks about the nights he cried himself to sleep because Chiyo was still out, having fun, and he was home, all alone and plagued by the ghost of hands that he didn’t want to feel anymore. He remembers the pressure for intimacy he wasn’t ready to offer, but did anyway because that was his duty as Chiyo’s husband. He recalls the weeks after the divorce was finalized, where he kept signing his name wrong. He could pin all of this on this man; he could slap him and inflict in him a fraction of the pain he suffered through. Kiyoomi doesn’t have it in him to do so, however. Instead, what he does is cup his ex-husband’s cheek one last time—one last soft touch—as his dark brown eyes stare into light green ones.

“Chiyo, I had my own blame in all of this, I know. I haven’t stopped thinking about the guilt of what I led us into, not for a second. I agonized and I cried and I suffered. But I- it’s enough, now. I can’t keep grieving a lover who could only stand beside me while I’m at my best. I kept thinking I could only give you my best because you deserved better, but you never hesitated to lean on me when at your worst, and I loved you for it. Gods, I loved you so much. For better or for worse - we said that in our vows, didn’t we?” His voice is a whisper, and for the flicker of a second, Kiyoomi considers kissing Chiyo’s lips one last time—one last token to remember their love by—but the thought fades out of existence before it can fully form. “But _you_ left. I didn’t. I tried my best for you, even when I was hurting. Do _not_ blame me for moving on, when you were the one who left the door wide open for me on your way out.”

The earlier good ambiance of the room is now gone. The air is tense, ready to snap if a thread is pulled a centimeter too tight. Kiyoomi knows he’s to blame for it; it’s his past that is dragging the mood through the mud, right now. Yet, he feels somewhat free. The darkness that’s been festering inside his chest has left him, each word carrying some of the weight he’s been holding upon his shoulders for so long. For years now, he has been Sisyphus – rolling the weight of his guilt—of his sins—up an eternal mountain, only to have it fall back down as soon as he’s about to reach the peak. For years, he has been chasing this ball of darkness back down, only to attempt it all over again—over and over and over again—to see if he can become free.

Today, he has reached the peak. Today, he has beaten Hades’ game, and he is free.

“Atsumu, take me home.” He turns his back on Chiyo—on his past—and looks at his future.

“Sure thing, Omi,” Atsumu says simply in reply, and Kiyoomi doesn’t hesitate to take the hand he’s being offered.

The way their fingers intertwine is only instinct, but they fit together well; Kiyoomi welcomes the warmth Atsumu provides, the comfort that he feels when he stands by his side. He doesn’t feel like home—Kiyoomi doesn’t know what home feels like anymore—but he feels like a friend. Kiyoomi could use some of those, he thinks. He walks alongside Atsumu disregarding the tension in the room as it dissipates; they step towards the front door with Osamu and Rintarou in tow, and the further they go, the easier it feels to breathe. By the time they stop by the door, Kiyoomi has had enough time to calm his heartbeat to a normal pace, and turns to face Atsumu’s twin and his fiancé, bowing slightly.

“Sorry for the disturbance, tonight. I didn’t mean to disrupt your celebration.”

“That’s— look, Sakusa, right? It’s fine. I didn’t know you were the ex-husband Suzuki kept talking about,” Rintarou says, and Kiyoomi feels a pang of worry at what Chiyo might’ve said. “If I’d known, I would’ve told him not to come. Just… go rest. You look like you need it, man.”

Kiyoomi stands up straight again, giving a small nod of acknowledgement towards Suna. He feels a little more at ease knowing at least one of the grooms doesn’t begrudge him for ruining the good mood they had going. When he looks at Osamu’s face, he can’t decipher what emotions flicker there—he doesn’t know how to read him—but he doesn’t seem to be angry, at the very least. There’s a spark of _something_ in his eyes, something scalding and ready to blaze through the atmosphere, but Kiyoomi doesn’t think it’s directed at him. He can’t be certain, especially because Osamu schools his expression into a softer one, eyes crinkling at the corners as he offers a small smile.

“Not yer fault, Sakusa. If my idiot brother had said somethin’, this could’a been prevented. But that doesn’t matter now. So long as yer okay?”

“I’m… sure I will be. I am certain Atsumu will take good care of me.”

“‘Kay, gross, get out.” Osamu chuckles, and Kiyoomi can tell it’s genuine; in that regard, Osamu and Atsumu are just the same - they laugh with their full body when they’re serious about it. “Hope to see ya again soon, Sakusa. If ya work with Tsumu, ya can stop by my shop anytime, we do an employee discount for his staff. And for family.”

Kiyoomi can’t quite name the feeling that flickers in his chest at Osamu’s words, but he smiles nonetheless. Atsumu has been awfully quiet this whole time, but when Kiyoomi glances at him, he catches him smiling too. He steps aside as his boss—fake date, friend, Kiyoomi isn’t sure how to best refer to him now—gives a hug to his twin and his fiancé, whispering his farewells to the two before guiding Kiyoomi outside. It’s gotten pretty dark by now, and if the watch on his wrist doesn’t lie—which it wouldn’t—it’s already pretty close to midnight. Kiyoomi should be on his way home, already; he should be prepared for this day to be over, by now. It’s almost the end of his cheat day, after all - tomorrow, he goes back to his boring routine, to his lonely home and his quietude. He goes back to the foot of his mountain, cursed to climb it to the rest of his days…

Or maybe not.

“Atsumu,” he calls once they’re both inside the car, buckling their seat belts, “do you mind if I sleep in one of your guest rooms tonight? My house is quite far, and we both have work early tomorrow, it would be simpler.”

“Sure thing, Omi,” Atsumu replies, and Kiyoomi can’t find it in himself to correct the usage of the nickname he promised he would drop if Kiyoomi went along with his plan. A short silence settles between the two, but it’s broken by Atsumu in just a few seconds. “D’ya wanna talk about what happened?”

Gods, how many times had Kiyoomi hoped to hear these same words from Chiyo? How many nights had he cried, wishing his husband would reach out a hand and offer him the support he so desperately needed? He knows he’s to blame for not reaching out—he knows it very well—but would it have hurt Chiyo that much to try and get the truth out of him, instead?

“I suppose,” he replies after a short moment, his voice a mere whisper.

“Okay. We’ll talk once we get to my place, then.”

It goes like this:

The rest of the drive to Atsumu’s penthouse apartment is quiet. The car is parked in a private garage inside an underground park for the building he lives in, and the ride up to the top floor is quiet except for the soft elevator music that greets them inside the metal box. Kiyoomi follows after Atsumu with no hesitation, and after they’re inside the apartment, he follows his guidance as he takes off his shoes in the genkan, walking in just his socks further into the place Atsumu calls home. Despite its obnoxious size, it looks nothing like a bachelor’s pad. There’s little plants strewn around, pictures of family and friends hanging on the walls; there’s books tucked into a tall shelf on one side of the living room, the sofa in its center, and a large plasma TV on the other end. The kitchen is to the right—an open-space with the shiniest appliances—and to the left there are large glass doors that lead to the terrace. There’s a hallway that goes into the bedrooms and bathrooms, but they don’t wander there yet. Instead, Kiyoomi follows Atsumu to the kitchen, sitting behind the island counter that separates it from the rest of the apartment as he watches his boss heat up water in a kettle to prepare tea for the two of them.

“Is gyokuro okay?” Atsumu asks, glancing back at Kiyoomi who nods. They’ve both left their blazers on a hanger by the door, and Atsumu has folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow, now - Kiyoomi doesn’t understand the science behind it, but he’s sure he looks exponentially more attractive like this. “Okay. Start wherever you want, I won’t interrupt.”

Now that he’s being given the chance to unload all the feelings inside his chest, Kiyoomi is unsure where to start, and why. It made some sense to him, during the drive here, that he would tell Atsumu everything; he deserves an explanation, if only because Kiyoomi ruined his brother’s engagement dinner party. Still, this man is still technically a stranger. Sure, Kiyoomi has learned more about him from various stories he’s been told from his friends and family, but he only just saw him for the first time today, after all.

Well, actually, that’s not right. Kiyoomi knows he’s seen him before—though he doesn’t know where—and Atsumu has been watching him enough to have caught onto his touch-avoidance techniques. It’s a little jarring, the way his brain is trying to conjure the exact memory that is sparked every time he looks at Atsumu’s face but comes up blank. It’s almost like he’s missing a piece of a puzzle, like he’s not connecting the wires to their correct outlets and so the memory won’t complete itself. As the silence stretches on, he keeps looking at Atsumu’s moving figure, watching the way he expertly pours their tea in two different mugs which he places on the counter in front of Kiyoomi before sitting beside him.

“Actually, let me just—”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt,” Kiyoomi jives, a half-smile on his lips as he sees Atsumu puff.

“M’not, ya weren’t talkin’ yet,” the blonde replies, and the tone is so childish it makes a chuckle bubble past Kiyoomi’s lips, unbidden. “Ah, good, yer feelin’ better. Anyway, as I was sayin’ - ya don’t hafta to go into detail about what ya mentioned today. When ya told yer ex that he knew about what happened ‘that night’.” Kiyoomi watches the way Atsumu’s fingertip traces over the rim of his mug. “If ya mean that night at the bar, I was there. I didn’t realize it was ya till ya started talkin’ to Suzuki tonight, though. I knew ya looked familiar, I just didn’t know from where.”

Kiyoomi is stunned into silence. He looks at the downturn of Atsumu’s lips as he seems to recall the same memory that’s currently playing in old film inside Kiyoomi’s head. It’s a little blurry and broken in some parts, but he forces himself to watch it from start to finish - the dancing, the bathroom, the wandering hands, Shouyou barging in, Koutarou restraining the man. He doesn’t see Atsumu in it, not clearly, but there’s a brief flash of his face when he’s back with Chiyo, and Kiyoomi remembers why his face is so blurred out - he’d been more focused on his bloody fists, back then, as he walked back into the bar with the security guard who’d restrained his assailant by his side.

“You beat him up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Bokkun told me ya weren’t gonna press charges, so I gave him a warning to never fuck around like that again.” Atsumu’s voice is poised low, thunderous, and a shiver makes itself known in Kiyoomi’s spine. “Anyway. Go on, ya can tell yer story now.”

“Well. There’s not… much, to tell.” Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the tea, trying to depict its flowery aroma as if he can name any flower that’s not a daffodil, right now. “I thought Chiyo—my ex-husband, as I’m sure you’ve realized—didn’t know about the attempted attack, and I chose not to tell him. His father was recovering from an illness, I didn’t want to pile up on his problems. Alas, I always resented that he never asked _why_ I’d changed and completely ignored it instead.” He pauses for a moment, chancing a sip at his tea, which has cooled enough for consumption by now. “Turns out, he knew all along. He thought he was giving me space and allowing me to heal by not asking, but wanted things to go back to the way they were; I wasn’t ready. He got mad, started yelling, then he left. Like I said, I waited for him. I waited for days and he never came. I don’t know when I passed out, but when I came to my cousin was over me, checking my pulse, asking me if I needed the hospital. He forced me to eat and rest, told me Chiyo had already drafted the divorce documents with his parents, and that I should go back to my parents’ place for a while. I signed what I had to sign, changed my name back, but had my parents pass me the house my grandmother left, in an isolated area, far from the city. I’ve been living there since then.”

True to his word, Atsumu doesn’t interrupt. He nudges Kiyoomi’s knee with his own to let him know he’s listening attentively, but he doesn’t say a word. Kiyoomi, too, goes quiet. That’s a good enough explanation for what went wrong tonight, but there’s a coiled string that’s begging to be unraveled inside his chest, still. He feels like it’s tied so tight it’s bruising some of his organs, and he needs it gone. So, after taking a careful gulp of the warm, delicious tea that Atsumu so gently prepared, he continues to talk.

“I’ve forced myself out of society. I go to work, and I go back home. I shop for whatever I can’t grow in my tiny yard online, and I avoid the delivery man. I give myself one day out of a month to let go. A cheat day, if you will. You see, Chiyo and I used to go everywhere; we had many adventures, we explored many places, ate plenty of different food… And I felt like I lost the right to do all that when I failed to keep our marriage alive.” Another sip, another minute change in the tightness around his heart. “So, I created a system. One day out of every month, I’ll allow myself to indulge - I tried different snacks at work, walked the streets of Shibuya without my mask, watched the people mill about. I tried a new food for dinner, and by the time midnight came, I went back to my usual routine. Kind of like Cinderella, in a sense.” The comparison brings a chuckle out of the two men. “Today happened to be my cheat day.”

“Yesterday.”

“What?” Kiyoomi balks at Atsumu’s interruption, confused at his sudden word.

“It’s past midnight, Omi. Yer cheat day was yesterday.” The blonde says.

Kiyoomi looks down at his watch to realize that, yes, Atsumu is right. His cheat day is over, now—his time for adventure is over—but he still sits here, in his boss’ kitchen, drinking a tea he’s never had before, saying things he never dared say before. He smiles softly down at his watch, lost in his head until Atsumu’s voice echoes through the kitchen once more.

“So, tell me, Omi. Is today a cheat day too? What’cha gonna do now?”

“I’m…”

Kiyoomi looks from his watch up at Atsumu’s face, and he looks even more beautiful under the low lights of his kitchen. His eyes are shining bright against the darkness, his lips glistening with leftover moisture from his tea; his hair has fallen down his forehead after all the sweating he did at the party, and there’s a tired tilt to his head, but he’s obviously battling through his exhaustion to sit here, listening to Kiyoomi. He finds himself moving before he rethinks his actions, the hand not wrapped around his warm mug reaching out to touch Atsumu’s cheek lightly, fingertips barely grazing over the smooth skin he finds.

“It’s not a cheat day anymore,” he whispers, and puts his mug down gently so he can reach for Atsumu’s cheeks with both hands, cupping them in his palms softly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I would like to take up your offer from earlier, if you’re still willing.”

“My offer?”

“To take me out for real. Wasn’t that what you said?” Kiyoomi finds himself smiling as he spots the gentle blush that crawls up to the apple of Atsumu’s cheeks, the skin warm under his touch.

“I thought ya hadn’t heard,” the blonde murmurs in a huffy tone, but there’s a smile on his lips, that much Kiyoomi can see. “But yeah. Offer’s still up, if ya wanna take it.”

It goes like this:

That night, Kiyoomi sleeps in Atsumu’s guest bedroom. They have breakfast together, the morning after, and the only reason why Kiyoomi isn’t asked about why he came to work wearing the same suit as the day before _and_ in Atsumu’s company is because none of his co-workers have the nerve to ask him about it. Through breakfast, Kiyoomi agreed to go on a real first date with Atsumu sometime that week - to the dog park, because they both want a dog but neither of them has gotten around to get one, yet. The date goes well, they get to play with other people’s dogs and discover how compatible they are, for real. Kiyoomi gives Atsumu a bouquet of flowers focused on daffodils, and Atsumu brings umeboshi onigiri from his brother’s shop for him to try, in return. They go on a second date, and a third, and a fourth - soon enough, the lie they told Atsumu’s friends and family at Osamu’s engagement party is no longer a lie, and they start dating. Kiyoomi is the happiest he has ever been, and his routine is shot to hell, but he doesn’t mind. They don’t travel the world together, but they visit local museums and planetariums, and they learn to love the little things in life as much as the big things.

Somewhere along the way, they fall in love with each other, too.

Time continues to tick by, and Kiyoomi doesn’t feel the need to hide his bad days when he has them. This is not to say their relationship is perfect—because that can only be achieved in the romantic comedies his mother forced him to watch with her when he was younger—but they work together to keep its flame alive. They navigate the bad days together, no matter whose fault it is. They float through the good ones too, happy by each other’s sides. Kiyoomi attends Osamu and Rintarou’s wedding—as Atsumu’s real boyfriend this time—and gets to see them off at the airport for their honeymoon. He moves in with Atsumu while they’re away. They keep Kiyoomi’s house for weekend getaways, but their home is the penthouse Atsumu bought thinking about the future. They get not one, but two dogs—adopted from the local shelter together—and start an urban garden in the terrace, on the opposite side of the jacuzzi.

Time doesn’t stop moving, and Kiyoomi starts publishing his works under his own name, quitting his job at Miya Enterprises. Their dogs continue to grow, and one day Kiyoomi wakes to find one with a ring attached to his collar and a handwritten note from Atsumu that reads “marry me?” in his chicken-scratch handwriting that would take anyone else eons to understand. They celebrate their engagement at Kita Shinsuke’s restaurant, but this time there is no dramatic entrance of either of their exes to sour the gleeful mood. They plan the wedding together, and follow through with it in a garden surrounded by blooming daffodils, in late January. Sakusa Kiyoomi is still Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Miya Atsumu no longer exists - he’s Sakusa Atsumu now. Miya Enterprises keeps its name, for business reasons. They have their honeymoon in Europe, leaving the dogs to be looked after by Osamu and Rintarou, and when they return they find that Osamu and Rin have adopted a dog of their own, after loving the experience.

And so time continues to move.

And with it, so do they.

You see, it goes like this:

Sakusa Kiyoomi thought love came once in a lifetime. When he fell in love at seventeen, he wrote thousands of words to proclaim his eternal love for the man who caught his eye. He believed he would never love anyone else ever again, because Chiyo had taken his whole heart in one fell swoop. Alas, Kiyoomi didn’t know Miya Atsumu yet - maybe, if he did, he would’ve known love doesn’t knock on your door only once. It can come once, twice, or even more times until it’s finally time for it to be the last. For Sakusa Kiyoomi, it took two visits from whoever entity was assigning his lovers for it to stick; for Sakusa Atsumu, they must’ve lost count. In the end, however, the result was the same.

In the end, the real story goes like this:

Kiyoomi met Atsumu during a dark storm and—like the first rays of sunlight when the clouds begin to part after the rain is gone—Atsumu stole his breath the first time he laid eyes upon him. The love didn’t spark from their first meeting, or their second, but it blossomed slowly, taking its time. It grew from a tiny little seed, an idea, into a full blown daffodil—

the first sign of spring on the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it this far - thank you.  
> If you’d like to leave a kudos or a comment, know I will cry giddily over it. ♥️


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